A complicated simple letter
by savingthestars
Summary: Who knew how hard it could be to write a simple letter? What are you supposed to say to the one you love?  One Shot


_Authors note: Hey, This is my first story on here, please review if you read this; I'm always up for learning how to improve my writing. I hope you enjoy this, see if you can guess who's point of view it's in before the end (: _  
_Much love xx_

**A complicated simple letter**

  
The letters seemed to blur in front of her. She simply could not do it; she could not find the right words to say. She had thought that if she tried to write what her heart felt, just poured it all out on to the crisp white page in her notebook, it would be easy. She could not have been any more wrong. No matter what she wrote it just did not seem to say what she felt, the words did not portray how strong her feelings were. She had always told her friends that this feeling inside her was indescribable, it sounded so cliché… but it really was.

She set her quill down, swept her long auburn hair from in front of her eyes and sighed deeply. It was unpropitious; she could not find any suitable words. Looking down at what she had written upon the page she felt a sudden rush of fury, and screwing the sheet of paper into a tight ball she extended her arm and threw it at the wall impatiently realising a tiny piercing screech. She would never finish this letter.

She looked at the fresh page in the aqua coloured notebook and then at the pen as sharp as a hawks talons and decided that she could not face another failed attempt.

Scraping the russet oak chair across the charcoal stone floor she walked slowly towards the small window at the far side of her room. She felt thankful for the gentle cool breeze that caressed her snowy freckled face. The sweet smell of summer tingled at the back of her throat as she gazed at the endless burst of colour before her. In various places beside the soft pastel gravel were tufts of green with beautiful flowers in various bold colours standing proudly. There were splashes of crimson, pistachio, mellow butter yellow, deep cerulean, fiery orange and a gorgeous plum shade that she had never seen anywhere else in all her seventeen years.

At the far end the forbidden forest loomed, amicable in no way; it was caliginous, abhorrent, and could ignite fear into the strongest soul. Inside it lay creatures that would cause lethal harm to friend or foe, there were species of plant inside the unfathomable darkness that still lay undiscovered, of the augmentative amount of people who dared stray further than the edge very few returned to tell the tale of what lay, waiting, amongst the proud trees, profuse brushes and snaking vines.

Scattered around the grounds were students of various ages, each taking advantage of the free time after exams, basking in the warm glow of the sun. Their callow chatter buzzed mingling with the resplendent bird song creating a composition that could perhaps be entitled 'the sound of summer'.

The sound of vivacious laughter came from beneath her window where a rather effeminate Ravenclaw sixth year boy was telling what looked to be a rather dramatic and exaggerated tale to a group of fourth year girls from Hufflepuff.

Then suddenly she saw him, and she realised why she had been forced to come and stand by her window in order to calm down in the first place. He was a seventh year Griffindor like herself, with his raven hair and his chestnut eyes like swirling pools she just seemed to sink into. His skin was tanned and as he ran his long fingers through his messy hair she felt a rush of pleasure cascade through her entire body. She could not believe this was the same boy that until the beginning of her seventh year she had felt such antipathy towards. Until this year she had found him to be egotistical, supercilious, offensive, insulting and very very immature. How could this charming, mellifluent, Hercules be the same boy? How could someone change so much within just the summer holidays?

Had he simply grown up? Maybe he had not changed at all. Maybe it had been her all along, he had made a bad impression on her and she had held a grudge against him ever since. She could be argumentative when she wanted to be, and of course he had been her only competition in lessons. She hated to be beaten when it came to anything academic.

Whatever had happened, it had allowed her to open her heart to him. She had not realised it at first but she had fallen head of heels rapidly in love with him. She never once thought she'd feel this sort of affection towards anyone, least of all a messy haired rouge she'd hated for the past six years.

She looked back towards the beautiful oak writing table at the other side of her room with its exquisite detail and delicate carvings. Then her eyes moved towards the notebook, the one she had been writing in beforehand, the notebook he had given her. Remembering what she had been trying to do, she sighed. How could she tell him how she felt? He had spent the last six years proclaiming his love for her, what if now, when she'd finally realised she felt the same way, he'd moved on? After all she had seen him with numerous girls over the past few weeks, all prettier and more experienced than she was.

She knew that if this truly was the case, then her heart would shatter, and she would deserve all the unbearable pain that was sure to come her way.

She sunk back into the chair, and resume her position hunched over the desk quill in hand. She dipped the quill into the thick black ink and scrawled a simple message onto the paper, and found that it was exactly how she felt, no amount of words or attempted explanations could better it.

_Hey,  
I love you,  
xx_

She delved into the drop draw of her desk and pulled out a soft lilac-tinted envelope and slipped the little message inside before leaving her room and tiptoeing down her stairs into the head boy and girls common room.

The door was just swinging shut, and just before it closed she caught a glimpse of a set of long black robes leaving. He was gone.

She sighed relieved that she would not have to face him just yet. She was not ready for that.

Turning to her left she climbed up another set of stairs, identical to the ones leading down from her own bedroom. She crouched and slipped the envelope under the door elegantly marked head boys room before retreating back to her own little haven.

Laying on the bed she smiled. She had finally admitted it.  
_Lily Evans loves James Potter._


End file.
